


Flash of Gold, Stain of Blue

by steadycoffeeflow (Salimity)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Children, Crime Scenes, Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Gavin doesn’t know how to handle kids, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm sorry for the ending, Poor Connor, Sad Ending, Self-Indulgent, Self-Sacrifice, Two Endings, crime scene processing, for that matter neither does RK900, kids as victims
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 19:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15893061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salimity/pseuds/steadycoffeeflow
Summary: Gavin Reed and his assigned RK900 partner Nove arrive at a rather unpleasant crime scene. Immediately, several things don't add up from the motivations of the killer, how the victim was murdered, to why Connor was able to beat the pair to the crime scene. From there, things go from wrong to completely bottom's up in a single horrible moment.





	Flash of Gold, Stain of Blue

Initially it had been filed as a potential suspect involved in a missing persons report. SVU had been notified first, but with a body lying in the dilapidated home’s living room the buck was quickly passed off into Gavin Reed’s playhouse.

The day hadn’t quite relented over to evening yet, the twilight shade spread out across the sky casting shadows that Nove had to process and evaluate for threats as he stepped out of Detective Reed’s vehicle. The house before them was mortgaged to Isaac Donaldson, a man in his late fifties. For all the owner’s work in construction, Nove estimated the house to last another five years, at best. The roof was beginning to cave and the foundation was clearly sinking in one corner, pulling the house down at a 7 °  angle .  Isaac worked as a contractor coordinating labor and parts for industrial units in the city, but it hadn’t been him missing work that notified the DPD.

Instead, it had been a small child seen in the window by neighbors, smudged with what they explained to dispatch “hoped to be mud.”

It hadn’t been.

Inside the house, Isaac’s body had been laid out in the living room. A cursory examination left Nove with a high probability that death was exsanguination. Isaac’s blood had soaked into the carpet, his body contorted. Rigor froze the final moments of his fight for life. Furniture was upended, a lamp on the side desk broken in pieces on the floor. Forensics was setting up in the corner, several officers already collecting evidence and sweeping the room.

Officer Collins was briefing them on the situation with all of this information when Reed interrupted.

“Oh what the fuck is that doing here?” Reed snarled at no one in particular, stepping up next to Nove.

Nove took the detective to mean Connor, the RK800 series previously assigned to Hank Anderson. He was alone, standing over the body, hand to chin as he examined the scene. The only indication that he was aware of Reed’s outburst was the slight angling of his body, preparing to intercept an incoming blow.

Connor’s LED remained an ever constant blue. “Dispatch sent for me, Detective Reed. Hello Nove,” Connor said, looking up and nodding at the RK900.

“Connor,” Nove responded singularly.

“Sorry Ben,” Connor said, dipping his head.

“Not a problem, Connor.” Collins held his hand up. “Figure you boys have this handled anyway. Not much reason for me to stick around, huh? Sort of hoping I can still make it to retirement.” There was a wry laugh wrung from the man that had Reed lifting his lip in a sneer.

“Yeah,” Reed said. “Boy Wonder and Freakazoid can’t possibly fuck this situation up more. Tell me more about the kid, where’s he?”

“Officer Rachel Kennedy is with him now,” Connor replied, ignoring the social indication that Reed was talking purely to Collins. “By the stairs,” he added softly. “Missing Persons had him in their files for seven months. His name is Gregory Alcon. He’s about three years old, otherwise uninjured. I suggest letting the SVU officers take him so social services can coordinate through their department.”

“Great fucking plan, dipshit. You two aren’t planning on adopting him then, making this into some buddy comedy shitshow?” Reed crossed his arms, turning his back on Gregory and the stairs. “And the body? Obviously the kid didn’t do it.”

Connor maintained professionalism, keeping focused on the task at hand without returning Reed’s comments. “Death wasn’t quick. There are several fractures to his limbs, face and fingers. The ME will have to confirm, but I’d estimate he’s been dead for over twelve hours. There are no immediate fingerprints or murder weapon, so there’s a possibility for android involvement.”

As soon as Connor said it, however, Nove felt inclined to disagree. Not in front of Reed or the other officers, but something disquieting firing in his programs. Something without words or proper codelines to register. The act was too emotional. Close. Android crimes - as rare as they were anymore post-revolution - tended to be quick and situational responses.

Whoever killed Isaac had wanted him to suffer.

But then why leave Gregory behind?

There was a connection of a thought, a process that Nove had to file away into the background as a child’s keening picked up.

As Officer Kennedy was walking Gregory to the door, the child became distressed, twisting in the arms that promised him safety so he could reach back into the house. As the officer tried to console the toddler, his face contorted and he screeched, fingers clasping and gaze fixated at the stairs.

“Rachel, get that fucking brat out of here already. C’mon, think he’s seen enough, Jesus,” Reed said, stepping pointedly behind Kennedy to block the child’s line of sight back into the house. His arms went up, wide, circling the officer’s back without touching her nor the child.

But this act only resulted in Gregory’s screeching reaching a fever pitch as he kicked and twisted more. There were no words Nove could discern. Only raw emotion and pain.

Drawn to a specific focal point.

Nove and Connor honed in on the stairs while the humans reacted to the child, wincing and attentions drawn away from the scene. “There’s a panel,” Connor said, mostly to himself and Nove, before repeating it louder for everyone else.

Indeed, there was an obscured access along the wall underneath the stairs. The white wood had panels so that the lines of the door were difficult to catch, and there was no outward latch for easy access. But as both androids knelt before it, Nove could detect the slight movement of air through the hairline fracture that was the outline of the door.

Nove cycled through vision functions to detect four heat signatures behind the wall. <There are more,> he told Connor, standing up as other android’s LED flickered yellow and he pried at the wooden panel.

Gregory’s cries became distant as another officer shouted for help, Connor swinging the door open and crawling within without hesitation. Nove was following close behind.

Beneath the stairs was a smaller room, leading down somewhat. There was a single dim yellow light that Nove flicked on, and lined up on the wall were four children of various ages, chained and gagged. Three boys, one girl.

Connor crouched in front of the girl. “You’re okay, you’re going to be okay.” He spoke softly. Moved slowly. “I’m going to take you out of here now. Can I take you someplace nice?” His fingers worked quickly to remove the gags while footsteps shuffled overhead. Nove hung back, processing the state of the cellar, vital signs, snapshots of the scene to file away later in a report. The children - Marcella, Aiden, Marco, Nolan - were all active missing person cases filed at least over three months ago.

Nove wasn’t entirely present until Connor looked back at him.

<The binds. Get their hands free. We need to get them out of here.>

The girl stared wide-eyed, fixated on Connor’s temple. His LED. Its ethereal light reached out and pushed gently against the darkness of the basement, occasionally flickering without Connor’s conscious control.

But the captives Nove tried to free flinched away from him, while Connor’s girl allowed him to pick her up. Connor hesitated as he turned to go back up into the living room, and Nove felt the prickle of  _ pity _ through their connection. <Try using your coin.>

<Excuse me?>

<You have a coin for hardware checks, correct?> Connor went up the stairs. Disappeared. <Try that. Treat it like a trick.>

Nove frowned, dubious. There was a sense of urgency to the situation that didn’t call for coin tricks. But there was a streak of confidence thrummed within Connor’s internal message. And Nove had to admit Connor was...better. Softer when it came to human socializations.

So, Nove ceased trying to pick up the child and instead removed a gold coin from the interior of his sleeve, kept there to test his hardware’s reflexes. He held it up for the kids to examine, then spun it on a finger. Danced it across the back of his palm. Caught it with the right and spun it on his middle finger before letting it ripple through them. He ended by tossing it, a blur of gold, and catching between his middle and ring finger.

The child he’d been trying to pick up gasped and they were all leaning forward. “Can I take you upstairs, now?” Nove asked.

There was a slight retreat, a wince at his voice, but there were no more vocal protests.

All in all, Isaac had been keeping five kids within the basement. All were slightly malnourished, but with the proper medical attention would make a full recovery. They were in the care of medical professionals now, equipped with children’s toys, blankets and all the necessary stress relieving components that could be stowed way in the back of an ambulance.

Nove was working on compiling his statement for recordkeeping as he turned back into the house for more data compilation.

Reed stepped forward, putting a hand on Nove’s chest. “Easy. Don’t go rushing in. Never know what that plastic asshole missed.”

Nove grabbed Reed’s wrists and flicked it away. The detective had clearly forgotten one of their rules. “Then allow me to double check RK800’s shoddy work. I advise you stay clear, Detective Reed.”

“Hey, just trying to keep you alive. Fowler’d have my ass if we ran through as many of you as we did Connor,” Reed said, holding his hands up and walking away. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, asshole.”

Without another word on the matter, Nove strode through the door, side stepping the medical examiner as they rolled Isaac’s body out in a body bag. There was one thing that was still bothering him: Why had someone who had obviously wanted Isaac to suffer for his crimes, someone so emotionally involved in the situation and aware of what was happening in the house… Why had they left the children there?

There were stairs leading up to the second floor. A wall immediately to the right. To the left, the living room and beyond that the kitchen. Stairs leading down, and the open door underneath the stairs leading to the hidden crawlspace. Assessment: No threats.

Connor was still standing in the center of the living room, eyes roaming and no doubt picking apart little details. Mostly irrelevant to the investigation, but it’d be included in the report all the same.

Nove shifted, feeling...feeling...stiff. Around Connor.They’d booted the RK900 series when he was still in testing, most of his programs and functions finished prior to the revolution. There were discrepancies. Differences, between him and the RK800. The complete prototype.

Nove wanted to step away from the other android. Not acknowledge him, but still reassure him of… Of what? Of-

“How are you holding up?” Nove’s voice was heavy and stilted between them.

Connor looked up, brows knit and head tilted. “How do you mean? The body will be processed by the ME. It’s nothing I haven’t analyzed and seen before, Nove. We’ve gotten-”

“Yes. Everything here is under control,” Nove interrupted, processors tightening. He was being misunderstood. Intent misconstrued. “How are you holding up?” he repeated the question, unsure of how else to phrase things. “Since-”

“I’m fine,” Connor answered, quickly, upon realizing what Nove was referring to. “Same as yesterday. Same as the day before that - the week before that.” Connor turned on his heel. “You know, something about this scene is bothering me. It’s not.” He tapped his lips, had to be fully aware he’d abruptly changed the conversation. So much raw emotion. Visible and forefront. Intentions transparent.  _ This _ was the famed deviant hunter line? He was so… “Why was I called to this incident? There was no prior indication that an android was involved in this case. That theory only came to light after examining the evidence, which wouldn’t have prompted anyone to assign me this case until after you and Detective Reed had run a report.” ...precarious.

Damned if Connor didn’t have a point, however. Nove looked around the room, began pacing the perimeter.

“Do you believe our suspect to be an android in this case?” Nove asked.

None of the captives had been androids, and judging by the blood - Isaac was absolutely human. So why would dispatch tell Connor - part of the android incident response team - to make an appearance?

“I don’t know. Perhaps I’m overthinking it,” Connor murmured, stooping to examine a puddle of Isaac’s blood on the floor.

Nove was inclined to agree with the other android’s conclusion. Occam’s Razor. But as he turned to address Connor and say so, he saw a glint. A shadow that adjusted itself in the darkness. From the direction of the kitchen. The backyard. Hadn’t they swept the whole property?

Before Nove was appropriately pre-constructing, he was reaching to shove Connor and intercept the assailant.

<Behind behind behin _ d behind  _ **_behind_ ** _ - _ >

The gun’s shot resounded sharply throughout the small, desolate room. An instant later, the bullet slammed into - through - the RK900’s body.

Ah.  _ Shit _ .

Warnings blinded Nove a moment, bright red and alarming in nature. An emergency diagnostic pulled information that biocomponent #4i89 had been compromised, the bullet carving a 3cm graze through the precious metal and molded plastic before passing out the other side. Thirium pulsers had been torn asunder, flowing and leaking freely into his internal systems - and freely out of his body in the neat little hole punctured into him. Blue blood began to spread and stain his jacket.

What an odd fixation, thought Nove as he began to tilt forward. His jacket was going to be ruined. There was another shot, registering close in Nove’s proximity.

Systems losing power. Recommended course of action: Enter stasis until repair.

Someone corrected his downward trajectory, guiding Nove horizontally. “I’ve got you, you’re going to be okay.” Ah. RK800. Nove could make out his face through the haze of red. Connor was jostling him, no doubt exposing the bullet’s pathway and registering the same information Nove was pulling.

Best course of action selected.

“Going into stasis to conserve power - you’ll see to it I’m repaired.”

“Of course,” Connor said, nodding. His voice was firm. No cause for alarm. No need for what humans called ‘concern’. After all, there was no need for RK800 to have a strong emotional reaction. It was just a state of lower power operation until an engineer could replace the part. Could reverse the damage.

But as Nove was losing power, could feel his systems sluggishly flickering out of existence within him, Connor leaned over him. Bowed his head. Fingers twisted in the collar of Nove’s -  _ he’d never get the thirium scrubbed out it, such a bitch of a stain _ \- jacket. Whispered through the increasing static haze of Nove’s mind. “Please. Please not again. I can’t do this again.”

\---

Naturally, Nove reawoke. He was fully operational, too. There had been no need for any of that… He didn’t quite grasp the fluidity of Connor’s openly expressed…  _ Feelings _ . All recent events considered, Connor was given a wide allowance for his unpredictability.

And, naturally, Nove woke to Gavin Reed arguing with someone. His raised voice was particularly grating against Nove’s sluggish lines of code as he rebooted. External stimulation when he all of his sensors and operations weren’t fully up and running yet. “It’s like a medically induced coma. All of the damaged components were replaced - he’s fine. We just had to make absolutely sure and-”

“Yeah, you told me that yesterday he’d be awake today. So you tell me why he’s still lying there like a lifeless piece of fucking plastic.”

“Please, detective, I’m running the reboot process now. These things can’t be rushed. He’ll-”

Nove sat up, diagnostic equipment broadcasting his movements with a ping. “Detective Reed. You should conduct yourself with more composure.”

Gavin was holding the tech by his collar, while the tech had his hands up, palms out. They both looked at Nove when he moved, and the tech visibly relaxed. “See? RK900-”

“His name is Nove,” Gavin interrupted. But he let the tech go with a slight shove.

The tech readjusted his jacket. “Right. Fine. Nove.”

Nove inclined his head to indicate he was listening.

“Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”

Nove wasn’t going to argue semantics of human feelings crossing with android hardware operations.

“99.99% operational capacity.”

The tech clapped and gestured sharply at Nove. “See? I did my job. Now, if you excuse me. I have other detectives that will threaten me baselessly.”

“What did you say-” Gavin started, rounding on the tech.

“Detective Reed.” And Nove used the voice that meant he was losing patience with the detective’s actions. The human had picked it up and learned quickly. Reed’s shoulders tensed and the tech hurried out the door.

Once the door clicked shut, Nove hopped off the exam table. He began moving his joints, almost as if he were stretching after a run, but he was testing the capacity of his servos. That his responses within his synthetic muscles weaves were responding adequately. No problems, yet. Then again, those always seem to be outed in the field.

A piece of white fabric was crumpled on the chair near the android service station and a blanket was thrown onto a counter. Gavin had slept here at some point.

“Did you at least bring me a change of clothes?” Nove asked. His jacket was draped on an armchair. He poked a finger through the bullet hole to prove a point to Gavin that the man could at least have been helpful in one aspect. The edges of the hole were crusty with since evaporated thirium. Nove didn’t bother scanning the clothing, didn’t need to detect the splotches of deeply contrasting indigo against the otherwise pristine white fabric.

Gavin hissed through his teeth and looked ready to spit his typical vitriol when there was a knock on the door and Connor peeked in. “Oh Good. You are up. The tech said you were operational and everything turned out all right.” He shut the door behind him, and Nove didn’t miss the glance Connor shot at Gavin, quizzical. He held out his arm, a new jacket draped over it. “Here. A sign of my thanks.”

Nove wasted no time in sliding into it, feeling unprepared to leave the room without it on.

“Least you can do after getting my partner shot,” Gavin said, muscling past Connor. “But I guess you’re used to mistreating those, huh?”

Connor’s shoulders hunched, the only indication he had heard what Gavin said. Even his LED remained an even steady blue. Nove was impressed with his predecessor’s capabilities to remain calm, watching Connor as he buttoned his jacket up. But as soon as Gavin slammed the door behind him, Connor’s LED flicker-flashed yellow.

“We were getting along better,” Connor murmured. “I thought…” He looked for the rest of his sentence in the corner of the room opposite Nove.

Nove tugged at the collar of his jacket, then lifted his chin and pulled his shoulders back. That felt better. More whole, somehow. <Detective Reed is volatile and careless with his words. It’s best not to let him see any effect he has on you. You’re superior to him, as it were.>

Connor gave Nove an appreciative look. <Thank you.> Pointless gratitude. <How did you get him to like you?>

<He tolerates me only.> Connor didn’t look convinced. <More important matters direct our attention. That bullet was not intended for me.>

Several details concerning the case did not add up, but the equation seemed to focus on Connor’s presence at the scene. Nove was ready to begin investigating that as soon as possible.

Connor’s facial muscles tensed and he began to rub his hands. “I’ve had some thoughts on that. We didn’t catch the shooter, but I’ve created a list of potential suspects based upon parameters I drew up at the scene.”

“Transfer it to me. I’d like to pay them a visit,” Nove directed, holding out a hand, white plastic already exposed. Expectant. 

  
  
  


**B-B-B-B-Bonus Round!**

 

Connor adjusted the fresh flowers in the vase by the window. They didn’t seem right, but it’s what humans did. It’s what he’d been doing for the past seven months. Two weeks. Five days. Connor set the dried and dead bunch into the trash can and turned to fiddle with the television set. “The Gears game should be starting soon. I’ll put it on for us.”

They said, sometimes, people were still aware of what was happening around them. At the foot of the cot, looking over Hank Anderson’s comatose body, Connor wasn’t sure about that. It was a human thing, faith. Conviction. Belief in some narrative beyond the facts.

A faith, given the stack of facts towering over him - laid out unchanged for seven months - that Connor was lacking. It cowered away from the stack’s shadow.

It wasn’t really Hank there. It was a husk of a man, kept alive with tubes and ventilators. Connor’s opinion on the matter - that this was cruelty born out of misguided human compassion - didn’t have much weight. The facts didn’t matter either.

Because it was Meredith, Hank’s ex-wife, who held power of attorney. And she held onto the belief that Hank Anderson would wake up one of these passing days. After all, they’d removed the bullet that had caused this mess, had landed him in the hospital in the first place. Her luck couldn’t be so horrible that she’d lost two of the people in her life to android neglect.

Meredith wasn’t here today. Had stopped visiting a while back. Connor didn’t care to remember when he’d last seen her. His directive from her was to call in case of any change.

Out in the hallway, Connor picked up a woman’s voice. “A dog? What’s a dog - he can’t have a dog in there.”

A responding voice Connor was familiar with. Jacqueline. She’d been Hank’s night nurse since, almost, the beginning. “Shush. Never you mind that. Get on to C3, there’s a chance she’ll be upgraded tonight.”

Sumo was doing no harm laying next to Hank. Sometimes Connor thought he saw Hank’s fingers twitch to pet the dog. Reassure the Saint Bernard when he whined in the middle of the night. Of course, that was a lie. A fissure in tangible reality. Something that fed the monster that was hope. Faith.

Connor sank into a chair, let the weight of the room push him straight down into the cushion. Then, he flicked on the sports channel, the game set to tip off in twelve minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to scream at me for my sins at my twitter (@SteadyLaurenS) or tumblr accounts (steadycoffeeflow or allofdetroitislonely). As a starving artist I sustain myself on validation and late night writing binges.


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